


you know i love it when

by dhils



Category: Men's Hockey RPF
Genre: M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, the kitchen table is for snacks only
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-17
Updated: 2019-02-17
Packaged: 2019-10-30 14:44:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,955
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17830541
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dhils/pseuds/dhils
Summary: The table top isn’t much when it comes to grip.





	you know i love it when

**Author's Note:**

> hey so i'm putting all the blame for this on rachel thanks im crying
> 
> sorry god😔🤘

The table top isn’t much when it comes to grip. It’s definitely not something Zach ever really considered before today, before he decided letting Dylan back him up into the thing would be at all appropriate.

It’s still not. Not against the table they’d only just eaten their breakfast on minutes earlier, but it’s harder to grasp much of that when he’s got Dylan’s lips on his neck and explorative hands slipping down his waist. It’s all apart of this sense of freedom they fell into over the summer, and Zach’s not all that mad about it, but usually this is in a bed and not on the kitchen table. 

“Larks, c’mon,” Zach manages. He’s proud of himself for even getting that much out, especially while Dylan’s mouth is slotted right over his pulse. 

The thing is, they get to leave marks now. Since the days stretch hours longer and they haven’t seen a rink for weeks, they can leave all the marks they want. And Dylan’s stubborn enough to disagree with Zach by biting down, imbedding his teeth into the frail skin of his throat. 

Maybe it’s Zach’s own fault that he tips his chin just slightly up. It’s all without thinking. “Dylan,” he tries again, unconvincing. Even to his own ears it sounds weak. So, he takes to tangling his hands up in Dylan’s shirt, a soft pressure right over his chest. “Upstairs. It’ll be quick.”

Zach’s so caught up in the way Dylan’s mouth works that he’s long gone by the time he finds his lips with it. He barely even thinks twice about much more than kissing him, even after Dylan’s pulling Zach’s hands away from his shirt, setting them back on the table. 

The same grip-less slippery table, and Zach lets out this little noise of protest against Dylan’s lips, but it’s hard to want to focus on much more than just the slide of their mouths. The way they can fall together as easy as that, like gravity. Zach always finds himself bleeding with this need he has for Dylan, and he’s getting him, but—

“Yeah?” Dylan asks between their lips, hands gentle on the hem of Zach’s shirt. Which is definitely familiar territory, especially because Zach’s so lost in all the kissing that he just nods. He’s so fucking easy for it. Always has been. 

“Okay, yeah,” He says compliantly, and relishes in the tiny smile he gets back from Dylan. Next thing he knows, his arms are reaching up and Dylan’s easing the soft cotton shirt right off him, like it was never there in the first place. 

It makes the softest sound, the shirt, when it hits the table. Like autumn leaves brushing the ground, and then Dylan’s back on him, kissing the air right out of Zach. It’s easy to give in, he sure as hell knows it, but it’s something in the way that Dylan does it that makes Zach’s knees feel like jelly. 

Like, when he bites his lip, the faintest scratch of teeth, or when he runs a hand through his hair, or the fingers that stay tight on his hip. It’s all in this way that silently communicates _I’m here_. So Zach has something to hold onto, so he knows he isn’t in this alone. And, fuck, the sex is great but it’s all the little things that make his heart flutter out of his chest. 

Then—then Dylan rolls his hips and the friction isn’t the best, it’s not great. Not through a layer of sweatpants, but it makes Zach gasp. Maybe because he isn’t expecting it, but that’s all it takes. It has him curling his fingers into the edge of the table and steadying himself, just so he’s got something to ground him. 

And, “that’s it, you got it,” Dylan murmurs right into the hinge of his jaw. It feels damp, where his breath hits skin. Zach swears he feels hot all over just because of it. 

“Take me to bed, Dyl,” he says, between pressing into the leg Dylan’s got slotted between his thighs and trying to focus on the point he’s making. That he’s not going to do this here. 

“But it’s what I always do.” 

Zach can feel Dylan’s smile, the curve of his lips right under his jaw. And maybe Dylan’s got the advantage here, maybe it’s because Zach’s putty in his hands, but this is _his_ kitchen table.

“Because a bed is a lot better,” Zach says, like it’s not obvious.

One of Dylan’s hands slides right up past his hip, over his waist, and it’s the way he rolls his thumb against his nipple that makes Zach’s breath catch in his throat. He’s not going to give in because of it, but it’s a damn near thing. “And what if I want you right here,” Dylan says, putting on this sweet voice that isn’t even the slightest bit convincing, but Dylan’s words burn into the shell of his ear like they’re on fucking fire. It’s the heat of his tone, the close range between them, and Zach’s gone for it. “You know I’d treat you just right, yeah? Make it worth your while.”

“I eat here,” Zach complains, even if it’s not as easy to curb Dylan’s efforts when he’s this persistent about it. Especially as both of his hands travel right back to Zach’s hips, sturdy enough to hold him upright if he had to.

“But you can take it, can’t you? Just for me.” Dylan kisses down the side of his neck, and it sends little sparks flitting over his skin. It’s a lot more intimate than bites, maybe because he isn’t used to it. How soft Dylan’s lips are pressing against his skin, raw and oversensitive. “I can bend you over and fuck you just the way you want it, let you really feel it.” 

Zach lets out this pathetic sound when Dylan circles his hips forward, it’s this cross between a gasp and maybe a groan. It gets Dylan looking at him through dark lashes like he knows he’s got Zach right where he wants him. 

“You can say no,” Dylan says. He’s wearing this shit-eating smile, as if he can be that confident that Zach’s not going to drag him right up to his room. Not anymore anyways. And he can go to hell for being right. “Tell me no.” 

Dylan’s hand comes down to the front of Zach’s sweats and the pressure is maddening when he gives it up. The room’s spinning from just his touch and Zach’s not sure how he’s meant to refuse anything more. Especially when he knows just how good they are together.

“Oh fuck, oh god,” Zach breaths out, all in a rush, “yeah, yeah, please.” 

Dylan’s got his eyes glued to Zach in a way that makes him feel a lot smaller than he is, considering he’s _taller_ than Dylan, but it’s moments like these where that gets easy to forget. When there’s this fire underneath Dylan’s eyes, something quiet and secretive just between the two of them.

“You wanna turn around for me?” he asks, knowing he’s won, knowing just how bad Zach wants. 

So he does. Turns right around under Dylan’s gaze, and he gets less than half a second to swallow a breath before Dylan’s got a hand up against his back. There’s no pressure yet, not like Zach’s expecting. Instead, he feels Dylan press into the swell of his ass, the outline of his dick flush and so clearly distinguishable against it, and Zach’s entire world flips. 

Dylan sets his teeth into his shoulder, like he can barely help it. Zach lets out this little sob with how bad he needs it. 

“Hey, I’ve got you,” Dylan says, his voice dropping to a murmur as he lowers Zach towards the table. There, Zach’s up on his elbows before he even realizes it, bent right over, and then it’s, “fuck, babe,” from Dylan. It’s, “wanna get you out of those sweats, like, yesterday.”

“You’re so lucky I‘m patient,” Zach teases, trying to look over his shoulder, but his attempts wilt when he feels Dylan’s hand squeeze his ass. His forehead all but falls against the cool wood of the table. He could melt if he wanted to, he’s pretty sure.

“Want it that bad, huh?” Dylan almost sounds distracted, and Zach doesn’t get why until his sweatpants are slid to his thighs and he hears the little hiss that passes through his teeth. Right. 

“Zach, god,” Dylan says, fingers right back on his ass, tight—nearly bruising. “Is underwear just not a thing for you?” 

“Not when you’re over,” he says, and gets this little breath in return, it nearly sounds like a laugh. Just barely.

His sweats hit the floor like that, pooling right around his ankles, and Zach’s almost too embarrassed to look back. He knows he’ll flush because Dylan’s definitely still dressed and Zach’s bent over for him in nothing at all. Just the thought of it makes his face go hot. At the very least, he’s grateful he has the excuse to just tuck his head right into his arms.

“Good answer,” Dylan says, and Zach feels something damp touch his ass, Dylan’s mouth—his teeth thereafter. He leaves the softest bite, soothing over it with his tongue, and that coaxes a grunt right out from Zach’s throat. “Can you give me three seconds? Gotta grab something to make this a little easier.”

“Mmm,” Zach says, right against the table. He knows Dylan means lube, a condom, too, because this just about isn’t going to happen without either of those, but he wants it now anyways. “I’m gonna count to three.”

“Perfect,” his voice is light. “Gonna stay just like that for me?” 

“ _Go_.”

Dylan’s laughter fades as his footsteps leave the kitchen. He’s gone for more than three second for sure, enough that Zach chances a glance up at the wall across from him, and maybe it’s wrong that he doesn’t feel shame. That he’s perfectly fine staying here, ready for Dylan, and it makes him dizzy. Just the thought of it.

“Fuck,” Dylan’s voice hits him a second later, along with the hand that returns to his ass. “You’re too good to me.”

Zach can hear the telltale click of the cap popping off a tube of lube, it’s familiar enough, even the quiet squirt as it comes out onto Dylan’s fingers. Zach can’t help but arch his back a little to make it just that much of a better view for Dylan. He can’t help himself, not with the attention he’s got trained on him. 

“Just like that, you look so good like this. Fucking gorgeous,” Dylan murmurs, and then he’s got a finger pressing in with the most delicate pressure, barely there. Zach has to fight the urge to push back into it. If only because the praise makes his gut burn.

He doesn’t catch the sound of Dylan dropping to his knees, but he picks up that it’s just where he is when he feels the pinch of teeth up the inside of his thigh. It’s that, then it’s lips, and Zach isn’t sure how he’s supposed to last through this when just Dylan’s breath against his skin can work him up. 

Pretty soon, it’s two fingers. Fucking into him a lot rougher than the first, and Zach’s making these wounded noises with every thrust, every change of angle, every shift, up until he thinks he might be seconds away from falling apart.

Because Dylan spends a long time, long enough, fingering him with two, stretching him out and sending his pleas spiralling into this incoherent mess of _Dylan_ and _yes, yes, yes_. 

It’s a lot, because Zach’s breathless and squeezing his eyes shut. His legs are shaking and he’s fucking terrified of losing his balance. 

“Dylan—Dylan, please—it’s so good. I want more,” he blurts, meshed together into one breath. “Please.” He’s just barely making it. 

“You’re sure?”

Reflexively, Zach nods his head, too wound up in everything to think much of it. But then he remembers he’s gotta actually say something for Dylan to know and a hasty, “yes, yeah,” is all he can work with. 

It’s enough. Because Dylan’s pulling his fingers out like that and Zach has to draw in a sharp breath just to centre himself when the cool air hits. He finally lets himself look over his shoulder, and Dylan’s back on his feet. His shirt’s a mess on the floor, but Zach finds him just in time to watch him line himself up, eyes focused. 

Dylan meets his gaze and his expression is warm. It’s something Zach can recognize. “You wanna?” He asks, and Zach knows just what he’s asking but the anticipation makes his chest clench. 

“Wouldn’t be here if I didn’t,” he says, and Dylan smiles. This small thing. 

Zach’s watching him the whole time he’s sliding in, nice and slow in that way that sets Zach’s teeth on edge with just how careful it is. He’s gotta bite back a groan, because just watching Dylan is enough, but he feels it too, like, _really_ feels it. Down to his bones, enough to make him shiver.

Once he’s pressed all the way in, Dylan takes a minute, and Zach gets that opportunity to let his heart catch up with itself, a moment to breathe and take this in. 

Dylan looks him over, eyes dragging up and up and up. “‘m gonna move now,” he says. “Think that’s okay?” 

“Yeah,” Zach says. Then there’s the slow rock of Dylan’s hips that gets him, the slide in and out, all of that that he’s faced with and he nearly looks away. But he wants to watch this. At least, he tries. 

He’s just not expecting it, the hands on his shoulders or the force that leads him further down against the table. The downwards pressure that gets his elbows slipping out from underneath him until it’s just his chest against the wood, but it’s enough that he doesn’t have to try to hold onto anything. 

Zach doesn’t flail, doesn’t protest, just takes it. He turns his head so his cheek presses right into the table, and the moan that falls from his lips there sounds small. Hitched. 

The table top isn’t much when it comes to grip. So it’s easier to stay still when the pace of Dylan’s hips spikes into something that just about pins him into place, and no matter how much he scrabbles, the hands on his shoulders hold him down hard enough that he knows there’ll be marks. 

It steals the breath right from his lungs, that inability to move. He’s a mess before he knows it, but it’s in the best possible way. Like he’s nothing but stuck in his own head at that point, taking, taking, taking.

Dylan’s hips’ll snap, hitting something deep inside of him, and Zach’s lost in it. It’s clear that Dylan is too, because he gets him enough that Zach barely has the energy to get the words out when he’s begging him to fuck him harder. 

Which—that’s it. That’s as far as he goes. Zach’s coming undone just like that, coming under Dylan with his name on his lips and his focus going bleary. He’s groaning through an orgasm that’s been nothing but building, and it hits him just hard enough that his brain short circuits. For a second, he doesn’t know where he is. Even if when he comes down from it, it’s all familiar and easy.

Dylan’s still fucking him. Zach doesn’t want him to stop.

He’s sensitive to it. But he lets Dylan keep going because he likes the feeling of being filled so perfectly. He wants Dylan to make him feel a little used when they’re done. 

And soon enough, Dylan’s fingers clench a little tighter into his shoulders. He comes just like that, his hips stuttering to this abrupt stop while he’s buried deep inside. It gets this whimper out of Zach because it’s exactly what he needs. Exactly what he wanted. 

“Shit,” Dylan says, huffing out this soft laugh.

He hovers a beat before backing up, so Zach can straighten out and stand up to his full height. Even if he barely feels like he’s doing it, already too used to being right against the table. 

“You’re the worst,” Zach says, although there isn’t a trace of malice anywhere near his words. “Just awful.” 

Dylan grins at him, smug enough that he might’ve peeved Zach off if he wasn’t all hazy, and then he drops his tied off condom right on the kitchen floor. As if the trash can isn’t right there. 

“That’s just tough love, babe,” Dylan says, moving in on him to kiss him. Zach can’t help but laugh into his mouth, playfully trying to push him away. He isn’t really trying. 

“Gross,” Zach says. He lets Dylan kiss him right about senseless for a minute or so before pulling away and repeating it. “Pick up the condom, you’re _gross_.”

“Weren’t this pushy a minute ago,” Dylan says, but he complies, and Zach takes in an eyeful of his ass as he makes his way over to the trash can. “Hope you’re enjoying the view.”

“I know you were.”

Dylan smiles. “Who said you could brag?” 

“I have my rights,” Zach insists, and dips in to kiss him once he’s back, chaste and soft. 

“Y’know we gotta clean this up.”

“Yeah.” Zach glances down at the floor, even if his eyes fly right back up to Dylan a second later. “But you should probably kiss me again, for my troubles.”


End file.
